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<title>Warcry (FFXIVWrite2020 Day 8 - Clamor) by Ivelia</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26377927">Warcry (FFXIVWrite2020 Day 8 - Clamor)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivelia/pseuds/Ivelia'>Ivelia</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>FFXIV Write 2020 [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XIV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward Spoilers, Gen, Tumblr: FFXIVwrite2020</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:13:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,417</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26377927</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivelia/pseuds/Ivelia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of my attempt for #FFXIVWrite2020 - September 8 (Day 8 - Clamor)<br/>Dragoons are not that good at pulling aggro.<br/>Spoilers for Heavensward (3.0) main story quest, and maybe the 30-50 DRG quests. You have to have played Heavensward at this point, plus it's free-to-try  \o/</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>FFXIV Write 2020 [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1906951</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Warcry (FFXIVWrite2020 Day 8 - Clamor)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Although he usually didn’t crave the company of his fellow man, Estinien was somewhat happy to hear some spoken voices, for a change. The boisterous voices of the regulars crowding around a game of cards, the dull thuds of the chops of lukewarm ale on the tables, the suspicious smells wafting from the tavern kitchen, <em>hells</em>, even just having four walls, a roof and a fire to keep himself warm, and maybe, if the Fury was merciful, even a god damn bed to sleep in… Those were things he had come to miss since he had left Ishgard, taking with him the Eye. Thinking of this, he morosely speared with his fork an indistinct hard morsel from the unidentified stew that the ale wench had just put on his table. It was barely palatable by his usual standards, but better than the travel rations he had been living on since he absconded with the precious relic, running around all over Coerthas with the Dravanians’ gaping maws snapping at his heels.</p><p>As he was about to eat, he suddenly heard an ear-piercing roar, whose sudden onset caused him to drop his eating utensil splashing back into his plate, adding to the suspicious stains on the table, under the worried look of the oblivious waitress:</p><p>- “Customer, are you alright?” He was <em> not </em> alright. The skull-splitting headache caused by this horrid sound had him almost shattering his teeth from clenching them, but the realisation that this sensation could only mean that Nidhogg had found him, once again, instantly sobered him from the throes of pain. Every time the great wyrm managed to find its current whereabouts, it would send a host of its minions in an attempt to subdue him; the shrill, brain piercing cry that he could feel through the connection that had permeated his essence, was nothing else but its call to massacre, sent to excite these scaly bloodhounds. He chalked the fact that he could hear this call to the growing influence of the maleficent orb on his psyche; the power he had foolishly furrowed from the winged menace through the artefact had made him more vulnerable to its influence. The other alternative, that this call was sent to him on purpose, because it just enjoyed seeing him run like a cornered prey, was not a pleasant perspective.</p><p>Hastily gathering his belongings, he slapped some coinage on the stew-splattered table and left the tavern in the cold night, under the flabbergasted looks of the regulars. He did not want to lead the monsters that had been sicced on his trail to the small village, running away from that place instead to meet them head on, dashing madly through the thick forest, until he reached a small moonlit clearing, surrounded by the glowing eyes of his enemies. One of the beasts came forth, and through the mouth of this mindless thrall, he could hear the taunting words of his arch nemesis, as if he was not actually directly speaking to his mind:</p><p>“I see that you have fled the shelter of that puny village to try to escape retribution, like the craven you are.” A disdainful sneer. “No matter. Once I’m done with you, I shall raze that place to the ground, just like I did to Ferndale.” </p><p>“You dare!” The Dragoon didn’t need much more provocation to dive into the battle lance first. After all, between them, everything had been said and done. There was no other way left for them to convey their burning mutual hatred than through the fires of battle. </p><p>While fighting, he could hear this heinous dragon song, almost rupturing his eardrums, or maybe directly pouring into his veins, awfully loud, drowning any other possible train of thought.</p><p>“Yield to the rage! Let it consume you!” Alternating with the soft, almost seductive pull  “Come to me. You understand our torment, don’t you? How can we suffer to let these betrayers, these thieves, these murderers to live?” Was this song for him? Or was it for the scaled mob that was besieging him? Was there even a difference, or a need to make a difference between the two, as they descended into the madness of battle, claw rending nearby trees and stone as surely as metal did, taking the battle to the skies through powerful leaps and shredded wings, attuned to their agony though his unwilling ties to their master, even as he thrust his spear through their hearts, their eyes, their skulls, endlessly, rivulets of bloods marring the pristine snow, until he was the only one left alive.</p><p>And there he was, still standing, barely standing, propped up on his lance amidst the still fuming carcasses of the slain beasts, panting, his torn and charred travel cape heavy, saturated with his foes’ blood, his eyes crazed, and the condensation of his breath in the cold Coerthan night not unlike the draconic breath of his victims, howling at the moon:</p><p>- “Send one, ten, a hundred, a thousand of your minions, I’ll slay them all! And if you come; I’ll slay you as well, and this farce once and for all!”. That night, and many others after, the challenge went unanswered, for the dread wyrm knew that the dragoon was right; their unholy bond had grown too strong, and unless he finally managed to overpower his will, the benefits the Elezen drew from the grudging pact would allow him to one-sidedly slaughter most of the servants he would send his way, and he could not afford to lose more of his brethren on futile endeavours.</p><p>This afforded Estinen a measure of peace, but soon enough this stifling, silent loneliness started to weigh as heavy as the previous constant tug from the great wyrm on his mind, while he started hearing troubling rumors of the Horde’s movements toward the Holy See in the villages where he occasionally stopped. He finally decided to turn to the Eye for answers, and the malicious glee coming from the other side did nothing to reassure him.</p><p>“‘Tis high time I learned the treacherous ways of your kind.” Through their link, he could feel the perverse pleasure of a soul that could only find pleasure in the slow torture of the target of its rage, whispering softly “Why should I waste my time hunting you, when I can just go to your city and destroy it? You can run away, but can your castles of stone run? Can your fields run? Can your weak and young run?” He could feel the bloodlust, unbridled and all consuming, so much that he could almost taste the delicious, warm, disgusting iron fluid in his own mouth. “We dragons have all the time in the world. We will have all the time in the world to chase you after we’re done supping on your kith and kin’s blood and bones, and we make you taste a little bit more of this delectable suffering we’ve been through.” He could feel in his essence, more than hear the wyrm’s parting message: “You will come to me anyway” (You will become like me, this way.)</p><p>His blood ran cold as their connection went silent, as if he had been discarded like a toy that held no more interest. <em> The chase was over </em> . In the end, he had only forestalled their ineluctable assault, yet the city’s defences, undermined by the efforts of the heretics, were growing weaker by the day. And this was without even knowing the truth behind this scheme; luring the Azure Dragoon back to the Holy See, rather than expending resources to hunt him down, was but one advantage of this change of plans; unbeknownst to the masses, the other aim was to take advantage of Ishgard being bereft of its strongest protector to seize the <em> other </em> Eye. Then, with both one of his own original eyes, and the one loaned from his brood brother, Nidhogg would have been able to easily dispatch the champion of Ishgard. But even without this perspective, the situation was dire enough. If they were to relocate the battle to the stone spires amongst the clouds, how many lives would be lost? </p><p>- (If that person were to help us…) Thinking of that foreign dragoon, his mercenary twin, he returned to the city, where he shared their mortal enemy’s message with the Lord Commander, who would then enlist the help of foreign forces, including the Warrior of Light, setting in motion the events that led to the end of the Dragonsong war.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Today's word is "Clamor" [noisy shouting, a loud continuous noise] . Before even checking the meaning, I thought of Nidhogg's attacks "Mortal Chorus", "Final Chorus" for some reason, so I had to write this.<br/>... I could also have gone with Hades's "Chorus of the Lost" though.<br/>This or a piece about that nifty ambient sound of a crowd that plays were there are a certain number of players in an area xD</p></blockquote></div></div>
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